


Play with me

by Iseutz



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Cussing, Death, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, No Happy Ending Fest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-07-28 03:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16233686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iseutz/pseuds/Iseutz
Summary: There was a girlThat Ivar knew.She wasn't special,Not even  cute.Whatever happenedHe doesn't careHe's merely leavingTo get some air.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this fiction, Ivar's condition is spina bifida: his legs are thin and deformed, but he can move them, despite being unable to stand.

-What happened to the Seer? - Ivar asked, fiddling with some molten wax on the eroded table. -I want her to redo the frieze on my chariot, but I haven't seen her in weeks.  
Ubbe looked at him askance, nose deep in his tankard.  
-Her?- asked Hvitserk. - Wait, who are we talking about? Is there a second Seer in Kattegat?  
-She's not a seer; she does paintings and jewels. Mother had a bracelet she crafted - Ivar answered.  
-Then why call her The Seer?  
-They called her like that because she had bad eyesight since she was a child- said Hubbe  
-A painter with bad eyesight?- laughed Hvitserk.  
-She couldn't make out things in the distance- Ubbe refilled his mug, spilling some ale on the table. -Her eyes were those of an elder. But she was really gifted with precision work.  
-Even so,- spoke Sigurd for the first time -why would you have the frieze changed? What's wrong with the one Floki painted for you?  
Ivar didn't answer: he was staring at Ubbe, rolling a pinch of wax in his fingers.  
-She _was_?

-Ivar - a kick on the side of his cart startled him. -Ivar. Play with me.  
He turned; a girl, looking like every other girl in town: dress inherited from some older sister, wisps escaping from her braided hair.  
-I don't play with girls.  
-Your mother told my mother that we should play together - said she, matter-of-factly. Ivar shot a glance around: sure enough, there was Aslaug, pretending to be chatting with another woman. She was never afar when he was playing with other kids; or rather, looking at other kids as they played.  
-Why should I play with you? I'm the son of Ragnar Lothbrok.  
-I'm Dagmar.  
-I didn't ask for your name!  
She shrugged. She was still standing; people used to crouch at his level.  
-Can I pull your cart? - she asked.  
-What? Like you're a _horse_?  
She nodded enthusiastically -Yes. I like horses!  
Ivar grinned.  
-Sure.

  
She wasn't as strong as Ubbe, but she put all her strength into it; he could see it in her rigid back, the contortion in her shoulderblades. The cart slowly took speed, slaloming amonsgt passerbys and heading towards the docks. Ivar waited until there was less people around.  
-Faster! - he shouted. -Faster! Giddyup!  
He slipped out the makeshift whip from underneath his shirt; Mother had frowned and Ubbe had smacked him hard on the shoulder when he tried to  use it on him, but he kept carrying it around. He leaned forward, clung to the edge of the cart and let go a lash beneath the scrawny shoulders of the girl. She pushed harder, now almost running, breathing with her mouth open; Ivar hit again and again, exhalted because _she let him do that_. He could see the fabric of her dress tearing under the whiplashes. Again.  
She let go of the steer and skipped sideways; the cart trampled her, toppling over and knocking Ivar out. He rolled in the dust, legs painfully twisted, mouth full of dirt. He lost a shoe.   
- _Are you stupid?!?_ \- he shrieked as soon as he managed to catch his breath. She got to her feet, brushing dirt from her skirt, and started to turn over the cart.  
-You did it on purpose!  
-Yes - she answered. - If you whip a horse too much, it will buck- she made no move to help him back on the cart and sat on the ground instead, legs crossed, squinting at him.  
-What you're looking at? - he grunted. -Never seen a cripple before?  
-Huh? Of course. Why?  
-You... you're _bleeding_ \- a small rivulet of blood had started snaking from underneath her hairline. - You hurt yourself pretending to be a damn horse!  
-Oh - she touched the wound, then brought the blood-stained fingers close to her eyes. She sniffed them. Then she snapped towards him with a sudden shout, her reddened hand out. Ivar shot back instintively and she laughed out loud.  
-Ha ha! You're afraid of blood!  
-I'm not afraid. - he catched her hand and licked the blood, staring defiantly into her eyes. She shrilled laughing, but soon stopped and turned her attention over his shoulder.  
-Our mothers are coming.  
Aslaug was on him before he could even turn to look at her, followed by the woman he had seen her talking to.  
-What happened?- she hissed to Dagmar.  
-I was pulling the cart like a horse, and he-  
-I asked her to go too fast.- Ivar cut in.  
-You hurt your head- Dagmar's mother was cooing at her. -You shouldn't go too far on your own; what if I didn't see you had fallen? Let's go home now, and start making dinner.  
She took her hand like she was a toddler and led her away, with a respectful nod of the head to Aslaug.  
-Bye Ivar,- she waved at him. -See you tomorrow.

-You don't have to play with that girl if you don't want to - Mother said, as they walked home moments later. She struggled under his weight, but insisted on carrying Ivar like a baby, dragging the cart behind her. He hated that.  
-I don't know what got into my mind when I let you spend time with her, she's too big for you anyway.  
Ivar said nothing.

  
The next time they met, they played animals again. Dagmar was a deer and Ivar the bear that mauled it; she fought more than a deer would have had, biting and scratching to get out of his hold, bu Ivar had strong arms and pinned her to the ground and crawled upon her body. She doubled her efforts and he liked that, in a strange, breathless way. He bit her, hard, on the throat, on the face, wherever he could reach; she didn't cry. He never saw her cry. When the game was over they licked each other's wounds.  
Their mothers got furious at the sight of the marks on their faces and forbade them to play together again.  
Sometimes he saw her in town, trailing alongside other girls, never really participating in their conversations, often bumping against things as she went. Soon she slipped out of his mind, replaced by other things: the urge to grow up; the will to avenge his condition of cripple; the bitter fear of failing; anger.

* * *

  
Early morning; positively dark. He paused to remove a pebble that had found its way between his palm and the layers of leather strips on which he crawled. The dampness of the sleeping forest had already seeped into his clothes; he was cold and his throat already itched. He checked the quiver on his back and resumed moving.  
Ivar was a good archer: he was better than Ubbe; he was better than Hvitserk; hell, he was even better than _Björn_ , but he couldn't do much as a hunter. When men went hunting they moved silently, stalking the prey for hours if necessary, having care to keep downwind; they surely didn't need a crawling cripple rustling along in their wake, snapping every branch on his path, moving half their speed. Sure, he can shoot at birds in the sky, but that wasn't the real thing. Young men took pride in killing their first deer, and Ivar had enough pride for a whole town.  
The pond barely glimmered in the moonless sky; during the day it was a bustle of kids bathing and catching frogs, but at dawn animals got there to water, as many hoofprints proved. Ivar reached the flat rock that raised at a comfortable angle behind the slim hazel trees some twenty steps from the bank. A short climb, leaving a wet trail behind him like a snail, and there he was; he adjusted his legs before him, strung his short bow, and waited.  
Time passed; the chill kept him awake; the sky lost some of its velvet quality, diluting into dawn.  
It took him an effort not to jump when something rustled the undergrowth at his far left. He raised the bow, controlling his breath. A deer? No, shorter. A boar? Sweet Ull, make it be a boar! The shape emerged from the underwood, clumsy and still unrecognizable; Ivar stretched the bowstring, inch after inch, fighting back the urge to shoot. Wait. Let it reach the water, lower its guard.  
Suddenly, the beast _unfolded_ , standing twice its height; the movement was so unnatural that Ivar nearly yelped. Then it took a step forward and his shoulders dropped in dismay. A girl. A _girl_! Probably doing mushrooms, with a damned basket, scaring the wildlife left and right. He had spent hours freezing his ass off, drenched to the bone, and now this fucking bitch... He shoot without thinking or aiming; the arrow impacted on the basket, tearing it out of her hand. It landed some feet away with a muffled thump, scattering its content all around. The girl gasped and froze on the spot, a grey shape in the silvery dawn. Ivar slid down the rock and advanced toward, grunting as his hands struggled to get a hold on the rocky shore.  
-You ruined my hunt! - he barked when he was close enough. The girl didn'let him finish.  
-Ivar! You grew up so much!  
Dagmar. _She_ sure had grown up: bony shins peeked from the hem of a skirt now too short, her hands seemed too big, attached to skinny wrists; caught in full adolescence, she resembled a foal, too graceless to result cute. She was smiling at him with a huge, toothy mouth. Ivar hated her.  
-Do you know how long have I stationed? I should have shot you, you useless idiot! What are you doing here?  
-Gathering herbs... can you see my basket?  
-I don't _care_ about your basket!  
She didn't pay attention to him: she was busy moving cautiously along the bank, scanning her surroundings, at times bending down to inspect a stone which she mistook for the basket, meanwhile picking up the scattered herbs that she could make out on the ground, unbearabbly slow. Exasperate, Ivar crawled up to the basket and threw it at her. It hit her legs and she lost her balance, falling in the muddy water that lapped upon the shore. Ivar snorted a laugh.  
- _Thank you_ \- she grinned. She stammered on her feet and retrieved the basket, shoving the herbs in. She found a dry spot to put it on the ground, then started to undo the strings that held her skirt in place. Ivar watched in horror as she slipped out of it and moved on to the underskirt.  
-What are you doing?  
-These need to dry- she answered, half-naked, moving to the edge of the forest to drape the clothes on a protruding branch. -I meant to take a bath anyway, it's so peaceful here in the morning - cloak and shirts followed the skirt on the branches. Ivar watched, mouth drying rapidly, as she walked back to the pond and entered the water, squeling for the cold, stammering on the slippery bottom of the pond. She stopped before plunging in and turned towards him.  
-You're not coming?  
-No.  
-Are you afraid you can't swim?  
-I just never did, is all - he grunted.  
-There's no need to worry: you will float! Everybody floats. It's actually hard to stay on the bottom if you try.  
-That's bullshit. People drown every year. My mother's servant drowned when I was a baby. And with my legs...  
Her eyes grew wide.  
-Are you ashamed of showing your legs?  
Ivar glared at her. And she _laughed_. He grabbed a rock and threw it at her; had he had his bow at hand, he would have shot her. She somehow dodged it, still giggling.  
-What the fuck are you laughing at?  
-Ivar... I won't _see_ them! I can't even see your face from here, it's just a pinkish thing... and once you're in the water your legs and mine will look just the same.  
Like that settled the matter, she retraced her steps and came to kneel beside him, promptly starting to fidget with the straps of the harness that held his legs together.  
\--N-no... -he hated himself for letting it escape his lips. She brushed it away.  
-It's so many clasps... how long does it take you to put this thing on and off every time?  
-A lot- he mumbled, trying to ignore the naked body inches from him. She was so close he could smell her; her skin made wet noises as she moved around his boots. He felt his ears growing hot. He hurriedly undid the upper buckles to prevent her hands from running too up his tights. When the harness fell on the ground she simply turned an went back in the water, leaving him to undress away from her gaze.

  
Maybe for normal people was easy to enter cold water, but going in on his hands, face-first, knocked all breath out of him; he gasped, inching forward. When the water lifted his body from the bottom a wave of panic hit him; he dug his fingers in the ground, but his fists closed on sand. Dagmar moved closer and he flailed an arm to keep her away, went under, thrashed back to the surface, sputtering; before he managed to open his eyes again, he felt her arms around his chest.  
-Ivar, it's all right, I was trying to tell you: it's better if you stay on your back. Let me.  
She slipped to his back and with a thrust of her legs pulled them both in open waters, floating under his body, his head on her chest.  
-Go limp- said her voice from somewher out of his vision. -Bottom up...- a leg pushed on his tailbone, waited until he was stable, then disappeared again. He could feel the underwater waves generated by her movements spiralling around his thighs; at the corner of his eyes, her arms paddled on the surface; her breasts brushed against his ears any time he moved his head. Despite the cold, he felt tension build up in his groin, fed by every casual stroke, every slick contact of their skins, even by the cold breeze on his shoulders. He said nothing, unable to fight that thrilling sensation, merely hoping against all odds that she didn' turn her eyes on his body. She didn't mention it; instead, she gradually let go on him, until everything that joined their bodies together were her hands on his shouldersblades.  
-Now I'm letting you go - she said. - Don't worry, I'm right here.  
-I'm not scared - he answered authomatically. But as soon as he felt his body unsupported, he tensed, thrashed and sunk. She pulled him back up, once again pressed against his back, swiftly pedalling towards the shore.  
-It's fine - she whispered in his ear. - It happens all the time when you're learning. Let's get back, it's morning now.  
She dragged him in shallow waters, where she could stand. -Perhaps we shouldn't have gone offshore on the first time, but you'll get the hang of it in no time; you just have to play dead, forget your body...  
-Easier said than done - he muttered.  
-Yeah,you're right. I was scared too, you know: I am clumsy enough on land, let alone in deep waters!  
Right then she trampled, and they both fell under. They were close enough to the bank to make it easily, Ivar crawling, Dagmar still trying to help him out, laughing and sputtering. They ended up in a heap on the round pebbles of the shoreline, a tangle of legs, slippering on each other. Ivar quickly pulled away, unsure what part of his body he should hide first; Dagmar just got on her knees and threw her head forward to squeeze water away from her hair.  
-Take it easy. I told you I cant't really see anything from here.  
-Not even from this close? - They were barely five feet apart; Ivar could clearly see the drops of water falling from her hair. He could also see the tuft sprouting from beween her thighs, the finer hair of her armpits, the water gathering on the lower curve of her breasts before dropping down.  
-'Told you: I'm blind as a bat.  
-But _what_ do you see? - he pressed her, more to distract himself than anything else.  
-Oh, big blobs of color - she turned towards him. - Like, from here you're a long streak of flesh, with some dark there - she pointed at his crotch. - And I know you have dark hair, but it really fades in the background. From here - she crawled on all four, halving the distance between them. - I can tell your limbs from the torso, but your face is still a blotch.  
-Bullshit.  
-I swear. On my father's grave.  
-So you don't really know my face.  
-Well... not in detail. I should come... - she inched closer, squinting. -...this close. - Her nose was a couple inches from his. -Hi - she smiled. - Oh, you kept your blue eyes! And you have freck-  
Ivar kissed her. It was more a smashing of their lips, teeth bumping behind closed mouths; he'd only ever seen kissing from a distance.  
She blinked. Ivar waited, petrified. Then she spoke, slowly:  
-If you want to learn swimming, we can meet again tomorrow. Before dawn. I will be here, - she stood up. -But I really must run home now. Do you need help to get dressed?  
He shook his head and she turned away, hopped back into her clothes and left.

It took him the best part of a hour to put back clothes on, secure his legs into the harness, gather his bow and quiver and start the long way back home. Before he covered half the distance, he knew he had caught a cold; by the end of the day, he was struck down with fever. A week he laid bedridden in a puddle of sweat, wheezing through every breath, dirtying himself because he was too weak to get out of bed. Mother never left his side. She changed soiled bed linen and fed him broth from a spoon and rubbed his chest with ointments that smelled like manure. Ivar hated her.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn't bother to venture back to the pond: she wasn't there anymore, for sure. He would have never waited for someone for so long. She was nowhere to be found, too, and Ivar had needs; that clumsy kiss had left something in him, a burning trail on his lips despite how awkward it had all been. He didn't know why he'd done that; it had just felt the right thing to do, the only thing to do. In the feverish place between wake and sleep, under clammy blankets, his mind had played the memories of that morning a thousand times, and then added new things. This time, he hadn't dragged away from her on the muddy shore: this time, he had reached out; he'd closed his fingers on her nape, stroke her earlobe with his thumb; cupped her breasts in his hands. In his mind, he opened his mouth in the kiss and sucked her lip, and bit her neck again, like when they were children, but not quite, not quite like that... His body had answered violently to those fantasies and he couldn't help but witness, scared to touch and even more to dim the heat away, breathing hard in the tangle of sheets, growling at Mother whenever she came to check on him. As soon as he was strong enough he'd left his bed and her suffocating cares, only to find out Dagmar was nowhere to be found.  
He didn't know where she lived, and he sure as death wouldn't have asked anyone: the cripple boy searching for the half-blind girl? People would have laughed about it for _years_. All he could do was loitering around town, eavesdropping the women's talk in the hope of catching some informations about her, keeping an eye on where they went to gather herbs and berries, in case she could be found there, too.  
That's how he spotted them: Ubbe and the tiny, dainty servant of Mother, in a shack used as a barn on the outskirts of town, she squirming on top of him, his hands on her hips easing her moves; she wasn't undressed, but Ivar understood what was going on. He wasn't born yesterday: he'd seen animals mate; he'd seen the movements under his brothers' cots. By the time he found Hvitserk with his face hidden between that same slave's thighs, he had his mind made up. When he saw her going with Sigurd too, he had a plan.  
He didn't need Dagmar: he just wanted some of _that_.

* * *

 

The trout circled the bait, then turned away. Ivar huffed; he didn't even like fishing. Fishing was for kids. He wanted to be alone though, and it was getting boring to just sit and brood.  
Two weeks had passed and still the memory of his failure set his face on fire. It had been an utter fiasco, and he was the only one to blame for it: why on earth did he ask his brothers to share the servant girl with thim? And not just to one, but to the three of them! The trip to the little hut by the river, the place already lit by candles, the bed that they had made for him, the girl already waiting by the fire... Everything seemed grotesque now, like an elaborate prank. Oh, how must they've sniggered during the preparations! The little cripple brother wanted to taste a woman, ha ha ha. How righteous and magnanimous must have they felt, lending her to him so he could play for a little bit. He gritted his teeth, reviving those moments for the hundredth time: she was so _scared_ , gods damn' er and so tense, like touching him was painful. And then she'd cried, and her face had got swollen and snotty, and she looked so _pathetic_. He should have killed her; he wanted to, but she had talked her way out of it, and now she surely had told his brothers, and by now the whole Kattegat knew for sure that the cripple son of Ragnar Lothbrok was indeed less than a man.  
He should have killed that damned girl.

  
Footseps approached from behind. It took him a bunch of seconds to guess who they belonged to and his mood sank lower: of all the people... He could practically _hear_ her mouth opening before she even uttered sound:  
-You slept with _Margrethe!_  
-Go away -. He didn't turn towards her. - I don't wanna talk to you.  
Dagmar didn't even pause: - I went to the pond three days in a row to wait for you and then I fell sick! And _then_ I learned Margrethe went to the shack by the river with you and she hasn't stopped crying ever since!  
She reached him and planted her feet, arms crossed. Ivar kept his eyes on the water.  
-I said go away.  
-No!- She shrieked. -I didn't do anything wrong. You owe me an explanation!  
Ivar reached to his left, where a basket held the fish he had caught that day; he grabbed one and threw it at her with all his strenght. It caught her in the chest and bounced to the ground, gasping for air.  
-I owe you nothing -, he hissed.  
She finally shut up, eyes wide open darting between him and the fish at her feet. The corner of her mouth twitched a couple of times.  
-You... just threw _fish_ at me?- Her shoulders started bobbing as a wild sneer rose to her lips; she squatted to inspect it, prodding it with a finger. -It's a trout!- Now she was laughing uncontrollably, eventually falling on her bottom. - _He threw her a trout in a fit of rage_... Oh, I hope this will find its way in the songs they'll sing about you!  
Ivar found himself sniggering as well despite his bad mood: gods, that girl was unpredictable like a crazed animal. When ilarity died down, she gathered her skirt around her crossed legs and scratched her nose.  
-I know you owe me nothing -, she said softly. - But I really thought you would have met me again.  
Ivar snorted. -What, you hoped the cripple boy was low enough for you?- For a second, the reckoned that he didn't really believed what he'd just said. Then Dagmar slapped him. He slapped her back before thinking and she slapped him again, _hard_. Then they were silent for some time, the brooke bubbling before them.  
-I was sick too -, said finally Ivar. -For a week.  
-Would have you come if you weren't?- now it was her turn to pointedly look at the water stream. He grunted a "yes". -Then why didn't you look for me afterwards?  
_You were nowhere to be found_ , he thought. Instead, he said: -You didn't either.  
-Fair enough -. She sighed. - But why Margrethe?  
-Why not?- he snapped. -And what does it matter, anyway? Now we know that I can't satisfy a woman, aren't you glad you weren't the one who had to find out?  
To his utter annoyance, she burst out laughing again.  
-I'm sorry, I'm sorry!- She waved her hands in plea. -I'm just... you went with a girl who doesn't like you! How could you think it would be a success?  
-She has no problems with any of my brothers -, he mumbled.  
-But she's afraid of _you_. A lot of people are afraid of you. Isn't that what you want?-  
She gave him a malicious smirk. Ivar mirrored it instinctively.  
-But you aren't, are you? - he mocked.  
She shrugged and leaned towards him; his hairs went on end as her lips brushed his ear.  
-I haven't decided yet -, she whispered.  
This time, she kissed him first.

  
Ivar filled his hands wih her hair, her fingers finding their way beneath his clothes.The world tumbled upside down and suddenly he was on his back, Dagmar wrapped around his body, swaying, grinding, peeling clothes from his skin, stroking him aflame. He gasped in her mouth when she pulled his hand to her breasts and everything started spinning faster, hot and slippery and her soft whimpers in his ear and his hips bucking in the clasp of her thighs and she guided him in and then he disappeared, molten and shivery, faster, sucked in, deeper...  
Orgasm deafened him; goosebumps blossomed on his skin all the way up to his temples. He came to his senses half-seated, clawing at her hips to pull her closer. Dagmar met his eyes, panting and slightly flushed, and winked.  
-I knew I was right all along - She smiled, sliding from his lap to lay at his side.  
-What?- Ivar was wondering whether he should embrace her; Hvitserk had told him that women got clingy after sex, but Dagmar didn't look particularly clingy: she was merely watching him, propped on one elbow, smiling from ear to ear.  
-That one time at the pond? I knew you were as much a man as anyone -, she hooked one leg across his hips, squealing happily when he slapped her thigh.  
-Was it painful?- She asked after a while. - For your legs, I mean... I hope I didn't hurt you somehow.  
-No-, Ivar firmly shook his head. -Besides, how could you hurt me? You're so skinny I could lift you with one arm.  
-Show some respect, kid! I'm older than you; I'm sure I'm even taller than you.  
- _Everybody_ is taller than me.  
-Oh, quit it-, Dagmar snorted -you always talk like you're some sort of monster; you just can't walk, is all.  
-Said the girl who can barely see my face from here-, he scoffed. She elbowed him.  
-Very funny. I'm serious-, she turned his face towards hers; her hands were very bony for someone her age. -You are beautiful, Ivar.  
-You're better than beautiful-, he replied.  
-Oh? How so?-, she was flattered: her eyes, always squinting, now were almost crescent-shaped.  
Ivar rolled on his belly, pinning her underneath. -I don't know. You just are. Shut up.- He kissed her. Kissing felt so much better now, without his confusion and the taste of Margrethe's tears; he took his time, getting aquainted, listening to her breath and the way it changed when he cupped her face in his hands. " _More_ ," he murmured before kissing her again. Her breathing changed again when he strayed from her mouth to her neck; when he crawled beneath her legs, hips pressing against her, it turned into a whimper.  
-More - he breathed in her ear; her fingernails along his ribs made his voice shaky.  
-More - she echoed, moving away her skirt. He moaned when she closed her fingers around the hardening shaft, leading him closer one stroke after the other, _more_ , and he slid in, her hands running up his spine, strong fingers clamping his nape; she hid her face in the hollow of his shoulder, _more_ , as he found his pace, his mouth full of her hair, she really did have big hair, _more_ , and long legs, latched tightly around his back, now that hurt, _more_ , but it didn't matter, his fingers run on her blouse, the fabric was so worn he could feel her breasts warm and soft and the nipples so hard, _more_ , she weeped and gods did he like that sound, it sounded like pain, but _better_ , and here it goes, she moved with him, her whole body rubbing his, faster now, now, now...

  
Then, they laid in a heap, chests pumping against each other to catch some breath, until Dagmar swatted his arm repeatedly and he rolled off her.  
-You are heavvy!- She laughed breathless. Ivar glaced her sideays, her grinnin teeth peeking from the strands of hair hiding half her face.  
-My word, woman, is there something that doesn't make you laugh?- he panted.  
-It's been a good day- she answered, - don't you agree?  
Ivar looked at them both, her face radiant and reddened, crumpled skirt barely covering her thighs, one breast poking from the hem of her shirt; his breeches pulled down, harness half unbuckled; he thought he saw steam raising from the dampness of their bodies. He pulled one of her hair from his tongue and laughed as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I sad this as going to last two chapters, but I decided to keep this a happy interlude before the inevitable end; this means there's gonna be some more smut next time and then I will have to let Ivar go and become the insufferable psychopath we all - for unclear reasons - learned to love.  
> Thanks to everyone who stopped by for the kind words, kudos and likes!

**Author's Note:**

> I plan on having this completed in two chapters, so brace yourselves for the incoming smut!  
> I did the umpteenth proof-reading and oh my god, so many clumsy mistakes! I fixed everything I could spot. I know I should wait before uploading stuff, but i just want to tell the story. Forgive me and thanks for your patience! Feedbacks are welcome and encouraged!


End file.
